Devotio Sacer
by Fialleril
Summary: Devotion can have many meanings. [The end of ROTJ in five interlocking vignettes. LV.] Now complete.
1. Prologue: devotio sacer

Disclaimer: Nope, none of this is mine. It all belongs to George. I'm just a sucker for the end of ROTJ. :)

**.devotio sacer.**

_devotio— self-sacrifice, offering_

_sacer— sacred, devoted to destruction_

Devotio. Sacer. Two Latin words with a plenitude of meaning, at first glance perhaps contradictory, at a deeper level perhaps the very expression of what it means to love, to live, and to die. Two simple words that, like all words, reach beyond themselves to touch an inexpressible truth.

That which is devoted is both faithful and accursed. The sacred is both holy and given over to destruction. The line between good and evil is both hazier and far clearer than we ever imagined.

There are times when power is madness and weakness is strength. A hero may become a monster, and sometimes, the monster is the true hero. Brokenness may bring healing, and sometimes, we must die in order to live.

There are times when the noblest warrior is the one who will not fight.

This is a story of contradictions. A tale in which the monster may be the hero, and the hero finds his strength only when he throws away his sword. It is a tale of devotion, and the paradox that binds the universe together. In short, this is a love story.

_Love consents to all and commands only those who consent. Love is abdication. God is abdication._

_—Simone Weil_

_**.sacred devotion.**_


	2. expiatus :Luke:

**.expiatus.**

_atoned for, purified, purged by sacrifice_

You are drawn back to yourself by the gleeful cackle of a demon.

You look around wildly, stunned, trying to see through the red haze that seems to have obscured your vision. You were so angry about… something. But now you can't even remember.

And then you see him. He lies still and broken at your feet, his breath an unregulated wheeze, his head bent. His posture speaks of a lifetime of despair, and you realize, with horrified fascination, that he is waiting for you to kill him.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember that you came here to save him, and you wonder where it all went so disastrously wrong.

His hand is missing. It is the right hand, black as night, and the stump that remains is only so many wires. You wonder how long it has been missing.

And then your gaze shifts, and you realize that his hand is missing because it is now yours.

You look back at him, and consider your options. The demon is speaking in your ear.

Leia would want him dead, you think. Yoda told you to kill him. Ben told you to kill him.

The demon tells you to kill him. Kill him, and take his place.

You look back at your hand—the black one. He is still lying there at your feet. He is beaten, and you know that you have defeated him more surely than Ben ever did.

You wonder, suddenly, if it is really him that you hate, or if it is yourself.

Ben told you to kill him. Yoda told you to kill him. They were wise, and they were your teachers. But they were wrong.

If you kill him, you will become him.

The sword glows in your hand, and you know what you must do. You came here to save him, and you know now that there is only one way to do that. And, maybe, you will save yourself in the process.

You look one last time at your saber, and then you straighten and speak the words that you have waited your whole life to speak.

"I am a Jedi, like my father before me."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his mask turn sharply towards you, startled. And you smile, because you know he is not dead. You have not killed him.

And then you throw away your sword. You know now that you have never really needed it.


	3. devotus :Vader:

**.devotus.**

_bowed, devoted, accursed, faithful, given, abandoned_

He stands before you, facing the demon that is your master, unbowed and sure in his final decision. His sword is far away, its light extinguished, and you know that he would not take it back, even if he could.

You watch as your master raises his hands to strike, and you remember, through the haze of pain and certainty that blocks your mind, that you brought the boy here to save him. You wonder how everything could have gone so disastrously wrong.

He is beautiful, your son, as he stands there so unafraid, and so alone. You think of what he said, the words he spoke to you, though he looked at your master as he said them, and you wonder if they were ever true. You were a Jedi once, you think. But never like him.

You crawl to your master's side, because there is nowhere else you can go. You drag yourself to your feet, and turn to watch your son, even though you know what must come. It is the last time you will see him, and in spite of everything, you cannot bear to look away.

You watch him as his back arches against the onslaught of terrible energy and he collapses. You watch as his strength shatters, and he whimpers like a small child, so certain that his father can fix anything, if only he will come.

But you do not come. The weight of darkness and ancient promises constrains you, and you find that you cannot move. You realize, with a kind of fascinated horror, that you are not even sure if you want to.

Your master is cackling, the old demon laugh that has haunted you since your earliest memories. You wince behind the mask that separates you from the world, because you understand, now, that he has always been laughing at you.

You see the pain on the boy's face slowly replaced by acceptance, and then something else, something you barely remember, something from another life long ago.

You realize with a start that it is love.

He calls out to you a final time, his voice gentle, almost warm, even through the shuddering symphony of his pain. And you know that he forgives you, forgives you for everything—the years of loneliness and longing, the loss of his mentor, his hand, his innocence, the pain of this final, ultimate rejection—even as he is dying before your eyes.

Something breaks inside of you, and you stagger under the sudden weight of your own freedom.

You know that it is too late for you. It has always been too late for you—you chose to become a curse long ago. You cannot really remember how it feels to love, and loyalty is a long-forgotten luxury. And you have never really known how to die.

But you realize that it does not matter. You cannot allow this boy to die.

The darkness writhes around you, and instead of trying to fight it, you embrace it. You cradle it close, almost like a lover, and it calms instantly, soothing whispers of shadow brushing across your skin even beneath the mask. And you allow yourself to smile, because the darkness does not understand this new thing that you feel, this strangeness that the boy has ignited inside of you.

You grasp the shadow in your remaining hand, using the stump for balance, and you stagger forward. You feel the shift in the darkness as comprehension dawns, and then the demon voice is whispering at you, and the demon fire is searing through what remains of your body.

_You are mine,_ the voice hisses, and you feel your lungs collapse and the metal of your joints begin to fuse under the scorching heat. You know that the voice is right. You know that you will not survive this—that you will be given over to destruction.

But you no longer care. Because the boy is more important.

You wonder vaguely if this is what love feels like, and you think that maybe it is.


	4. renatus :the Force:

**.renatus.**

_born again, risen again, restored_

You watch as he makes his choice—watch as he staggers, and breaks, but does not stop. You watch as he casts the demon into the depths of the pit and falls himself, but his son is there to catch him. You feel the agony of shredded muscle, of bone welded to searing hot metal, of plastic and flesh that melt and mingle together. And beneath that, deeper still, you feel the agony of a universe in the throes of rebirth.

You feel the change, the sudden, almost inexplicable shift, as the conflict that has raged within you since before the foundation of time fades into memory, and then nothingness. The darkness that has always been there is gone, and the light—the light is changed. _You _are changed.

Your joy pervades the universe, and your tears are reflected in the rain of a thousand worlds.

He has done it.

Some have said that you are the greatest power in the universe. They may be right. But there is one thing you have always lacked, because you are, for all your power, ultimately only an energy field. You lack the power of choice.

So you created him to choose for you. A living being, formed within the womb of a slave woman, to live and to die, and in so doing to end the conflict. A choice between light, and darkness.

Instead, he chose the sacrifice that transcends both.

His son has saved him, as he has saved you. And though you could not have understood it before, you think, now, that it is fitting. You are glad that he chose as he did.

He stumbles and falls now, and his son cannot drag him any further. But he hardly seems to notice.

He speaks, a feeble whisper, but its echoes fill all the depths of space, and you hear his voice everywhere. And you know that it is your own voice, as well.

"Help me take this mask off."

His son hesitates, but not for long, because he understands. It is for this moment that he was born, even before the worlds were made.

The boy reaches out, fear and wonder dancing in his eyes, and lifts the mask away. You feel your own mask shatter as his is removed forever, and the last of the darkness in you fades and finally dies. You know that there can be no darkness again. He has chosen.

Blue eyes gaze up into blue, and the universe is born.


	5. Epilogue: ave atque vale

**.ave atque vale.**

_hail and farewell_

The night is still, dusted with a thousand sparks of pale silver starlight. In the shadows under the trees, the dark waits, but there is no longer any fear in its shadows. They promise only peace.

In one clearing, far from anything else, the last remains of a life both beautiful and terrible are given gently to the flames. Golden sparks rise to meet the silver, and the heavens are filled with a chorus of glittering embers.

The night deepens, and now the silence is broken by the noise of celebration, by hundreds of joyful voices and the sound of light exploding into the darkness and turning it to glory.

But in the clearing, all is silent. Even sound knows the sanctity of this place—knows that silence can be holy. Some truths are too deep for words, and some joys are too deep even for tears.

And the sparks rise, reflected in two pairs of blue eyes, broken but redeemed.


	6. Epilogue: ad aeternitatem

**.ad aeternitatem.**

_toward eternity_

There has been a time for sorrows, and now is the time for joy.

And so the boy returns to his friends. They meet him with hugs and tears, but if they weep there is no longer any sorrow in it. He smiles back at them, and his sister notices that his eyes hold a new wisdom, and a tenderness she cannot quite explain.

She thinks that perhaps he alone of them all truly understands the joy that now shines at the heart of the world. There is sorrow mingled with the wonder in his face, a pain transfigured into beauty. His eyes know the meaning of sacrifice.

She thinks that they are the eyes of one who has glimpsed eternity.

And she is right. The boy stands at the edge of forever and his eyes reach across the gap to a place where time has no meaning. He is puzzled for a moment, uncertain of what it is he feels, and then he smiles, and his face is filled with a light like the stars.

He understands that the distance is not so great as he had thought. It is only the short interval between death and resurrection.

He called, and his father came. And that is everything.

The eyes of eternity gaze back at him, and the morning dawns.

**.ad memoriam aeternitatis.**

_for perpetual remembrance_


End file.
